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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Archive name: decison.txt (mf, 1st, nc, rom)
Authors name: Acme Beta Test
Story title : Decision Limited
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-= This work is copyrighted to the author © 1999. =-
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Decision Limited (mf/first/nc?/rom)
by Acme Beta Test
Email: acmebetatest@hotmail.com
"NOW Men Join the Fight for Women's Rights" - that was
the headline in the Monday Boston Globe. And David
Barrett was proud of that headline. For a reserved man
like David, keynote speeches did not seem to fit his
personality. His almost effeminate voice would not
have been expected to do well under the stresses of
making any keynote address, much less addressing the
annual convention of the National Organization for
Women. Yet the picture on the front page said it all
- he was included, he belonged. David was at the podium
in that most historic place, Fanueil Hall, from which
the American Revolution was launched.
Now, he was helping to launch a different revolution,
one that would take up the unfinished business from the
original, led by John Adams. It was entirely appro-
priate that Abigail Adams would be David's inspiration
for his support for women's equality. He had used her
words from a letter to her husband John, in his speech:
"If particular care and attention is not paid to the
ladies, we are determined to foment a rebellion, and
will not hold ourselves bound by any laws in which we
have no voice, or representation."
He continued to read from his outline, wondering just
how he had been able to make this speech come alive;
it seemed ponderous to him now. How had he overcome
his innate shyness, his desire for peace and solitude,
just this once? For the speech was better received
than he had expected. He would have to watch the tape
later for clues. He read further from his outline,
"You must not rely upon Reagans or Kennedys, God or
Allah, to give you your rights. You must take them
yourself. I can only help you if you are willing to
fight for what belongs to you." He could not compre-
hend how anyone could oppose equal rights for women,
no matter President Reagan's desire to move forward to
the past without Rosie the Riveter.
"If he'd had his way in the war, we'd be singing
Deutschlanders ber alles' by now," David muttered,
running his hand through his unkempt, short brown
hair. He had seen firsthand what such visceral
opinions held by men like Reagan had done to women
throughout history. He didn't have to look far for
an example; his mother's circumstances were sufficient
example to illustrate the effects of those opinions
on many women. She was still a clerk at Cartier's in
Chicago. Even though she had worked there for nearly
thirty years, knew more about jewelry than anyone
there, and was the best salesperson they had ever had,
she had never been promoted once. Her manager never
told her why, and David could find no satisfactory
explanation of this from his moral and scholastic
education.
He looked at his watch; it was ten o'clock, and the
Lake Shore Limited had just left Utica. There were no
passengers at any of the lounge car's twelve tables at
that hour, save David. They were probably settling in
for the night. The lounge car attendant, a short,
salt-and-pepper haired black man who looked sixty, but
was as lively as a teenager, was busy in the back of
the lounge car cleaning up.
David's thoughts wandered, considering the train
itself. "Would Cary Grant have ridden this train
today?", David asked. Comparing the Lake Shore
Limited to its predecessor, the 20th Century Limited,
was simple. Both trains had the same type of cars,
but the train that Grant had traveled on in North by
Northwest some 25 years ago was impeccably maintained.
The Lake Shore Limited seemed resigned to a lingering
death, seemingly too worn out to resist fate; the old
windows created moire effects when the light from
outside hit them just right, the cars reeked of
disinfectant and deodorant like a morgue, the cleaning
was perfunctorily done (despite Max's efforts in the
back of the lounge car), and the lights were somehow
dimmer than they should be.
While half-listening to the clickety-clack-clack of
the train on its tracks, he peered through his glasses
at the October night outside, toward the rising ruddy
harvest moon. He wondered what he would do in Chicago
before he took the City of New Orleans home to
Champaign. He wasn't in a hurry; the big football
game wasn't for another twelve days, and he had four
more days left on his vacation. "I suppose I should
see Mom and Dad for a few days," he said out loud.
"Pardon me?"
David looked up to see an anorexic Goliath across the
table. Actually, the blond haired man who had spoken
was nearly eight inches taller than David's 5' 10",
and weighed slightly less than David's 200 pounds. He
could have been anywhere between thirty and fifty, and
looked like a patrician. His clothing implied power
or wealth; his ebony single-breasted Palm Beach suit,
white cotton shirt with golden studs, red silk four-in-
hand, and polished black oxfords amply testified to
that.
"Excuse me, sir. I was talking to myself."
The man looked David over. Although not nearly as
handsome or as well dressed as the stranger, no one
could mistake David for a bum. Khaki slacks, a dark
green polo shirt, and Reeboks - David was ready for
anything short of the 21 Club. Then the stranger's
blue eyes looked down at the newspaper on the table,
and studied the picture. David's brown eyes followed.
In the picture, to David's left on the Fanueil Hall
dais was Hannah O'Connor, the chair of the Illinois
delegation of NOW. Her ruddy oval face, framed by
her unbraided, feathery, just past shoulder length
auburn hair, could stop a train, David thought. With-
out another word, the stranger walked out of the
lounge car.
David was now fully entranced by the image of Hannah
in the picture. She was wearing a shimmering royal
blue silk pullover blouse in the picture, which
accentuated her smallish round breasts. The blouse's
high neckline almost revealed the valley between her
breasts. The delicate gold chain necklace around her
neck helped draw his attention not only to this hint
of her cleavage, but to her short, delicate neck. As
he remembered, from his place at the podium, she had
worn a matching silken dress, which was of a length
that when she was seated, one could just see her per-
fectly sculpted calves and knees. She didn't wear
high heels, but wore leather loafers instead. He
would have guessed that she was about 30 years old.
Before the final session of the convention the day
before, they had a late lunch together at Quincy
Market, across from Fanueil Hall. Although the odor
and din from the throngs of tourists tried their best
to hide it, history and the smell of the sea filled
the place. He had suggested a small stand where they
had ordered swordfish sandwiches, chips, and iced tea.
Hannah's trim figure, the same height as David's,
wouldn't worry much about the calories - she could
easily hide another 10 pounds. Despite her superior
position (and her expense account), he had insisted on
paying for them. She was as graceful as Ingrid Bergman
when she walked, even through the milling throng of
tourists.
They were making small talk when Hannah surprised
David: "Do you really believe in women's rights?"
"What do you mean?", David said.
"I mean, a lot of men say that they do, but then they
go back to Neanderthal behaviors when they go home."
David furrowed his brow. "You mean when we say that
women shouldn't be held up as sex objects, and doing
so at the same time?"
"Not only that, but claiming that, when they say 'I
do', they are entering an equal partnership, but after
a while, claiming senior partnership status."
David was smart enough to demur, smart enough not to
answer without thought. In fact, he was still thinking
about it as he sipped his lemonade. His mind wandered
once more, this time to his high school days fifteen
years ago, when he and several buddies trolled the
public library, looking for a chance to talk to pretty
classmates. David was familiar with what they had then
called the "sports section" - the range of books from
Lady Chatterley's Lover to the Kama Sutra, from The
Thorn Birds to the Harlequins. As it turned out, David
was more interested then in the books than the girls,
and more interested in conversation than making out.
Now his old buddies were all married, while he still
went to bed alone each night, with only a book (either
the Bible, Lady Chatterley, or Eva Luna) as his com-
panion.
"Thump-thump-thump" - the train crossed an old trestle,
rousing David from his reverie. He grasped his glass
of lemonade and finished it. Listening inside David's
head, one would have heard this conversation: "How
dare you think about her like that? A sex object?
Really!"
"Well, she is very attractive, and there's no wedding
band on her finger . . . "
"But even so, you should be ashamed of yourself! If
she only knew, what would she think of you?"
"I didn't think of her that way . . . "
"Don't lie to me! I felt your heart when she shook
your hand after your speech . . . "
His conscience often took him to task in this way, but
it also had helped him through many difficult problems
in his life. It was, in many ways, his only companion.
David looked at his watch; nearly eleven o'clock, and
the train had just left Syracuse. With a stretch and
a yawn, he arose, picked up his speech outline, folded
it inside the newspaper, and walked to the exit of the
lounge car. The train rattled over a rough stretch of
track; as he walked between cars, he had to steady
himself with his hand for a moment. Now that he was
in the corridor of one of the sleeping cars, he noticed
that the lighting was far worse than in the lounge car.
The next car was his coach car, where he would sleep.
When David was halfway through the corridor, a hand
clasped itself over his mouth, and a strong arm wrapped
itself around his chest. He was then shoved into one
of the compartments. David heard the door close behind
him.
The compartment was brightly lit, so David could not
focus properly for a moment. In a moment, he saw that
he was in a standard bedroom compartment. The lavatory
was to the left as he faced into the room, and the
upper and lower berths were to his right. The shades
were drawn over the picture window, so that he could
not see out. As David's eyes became fully adjusted to
the light, he noticed that someone was in the lower
berth, three feet away. Her hands were bound behind
her back by a rope, the leftover portion coiled upon
her belly like a snake. Her mouth was gagged, but her
green eyes were wide open, framed by her mussed, yet
still feathery auburn tresses. Apart from a delicate
gold chain necklace, a matching anklet on her right
ankle, and the coiled rope, she was naked and
unadorned. David's mouth gaped as if he were a fish
out of water. He swallowed, then tried to speak, but
words would not come to his mouth.
"Well, Mr. Barrett, what do you think of the lady now?"
a voice from behind David said. David recognized it
as the man he had seen in the lounge car some moments
previously. Even with this knowledge, he still could
not respond; his eyes were as firmly held by the coil
of rope as a rabbit's eyes would be held by a snake.
"I think that you should rape her now. She'll enjoy
that."
David's eyes were now unfrozen. As he peered into
Hannah's eyes, they were widened with the horror of
the stranger's suggestion. She was flushed from her
face to her feet, and David saw a bruise on Hannah's
belly above the coil of rope. Finally, David was able
to gain control over his mouth. "And if I refuse?"
"Then I will kill you," the stranger said, pressing
something cool against the back of David's neck. His
body froze, his eyes locked with Hannah's. Then his
mind froze as well. He didn't even hear the train's
whistle blowing.
"Clickety-clack-clack . . . ": David's eyes seemed to
be looking through Hannah's, as if the train did not
exist; his heart raced feverishly.
"Thump-thump-thump . . . ": As Hannah's eyes closed,
one could see a tear squeezed from deep within her.
But David's eyes were closed now, and his heart raced
even faster . . .
"Now what do I do?"
"............"
"Help me! What should I do now?"
"............"
"I need help - please?"
"............"
David opened his eyes, but they did not register
anything. His mouth gaped open and shut.
"Clickety-clack-clunk-clunk!": As the train traversed
another bad section of track, David's eyes closed once
more.
The stranger slapped David in the back of his head.
"Well?"
Then, after what seemed like eternity, David opened
his eyes. His eyes still were locked with Hannah's,
but he felt nothing - not even the gun pressed against
his neck. He swallowed, tried to speak, coughed, and
tried to speak once more. Taking a deep breath, David
said, "Hannah, will you marry me?"
David gazed into Hannah's eyes. Her expression had
been like that of a deer caught in headlights; now,
she closed her eyes. David could see her whole body
shudder, then her breasts rise and fall as she took a
deep breath, then another, then still another . . .
"Clickety-clack-clack . . . ": Without opening her
eyes, Hannah nodded.
"Now take your clothes off, Mr. Barrett," the stranger
said.
Trembling, David bent down to untie his shoes. Having
removed his shoes and stockings, he placed them neatly
on the upper berth. Then he removed the rest of his
clothing and his glasses. He felt chilled, as his
skin became all goosebumps. He hesitated, looking into
Hannah's eyes. To David, Hannah still seemed frighten-
ed.
"Well, what are you waiting for?", the stranger asked
David, shoving the gun into his back.
Kneeling besides the lower berth, David leaned over to
Hannah. "Just relax. I'll be gentle." David said.
Reaching behind her head, he untied the terrycloth gag
and removed it, eliciting a quiet sigh. As he bent
down and kissed her, David heard a soft whirr behind
him. Ignoring the sound, he continued kissing Hannah,
slowly moving from her lips to the nape of her neck.
"Please relax, Hannah," David said.
While his lips moved toward her breasts, his hands
removed the coil of rope from her belly, then followed
the rope to the knot binding her wrists. As Hannah
arched her back upwards, forcing her breast to his
lips, he untied the rope binding her. As she stretched
her newly freed arms above her head, David could sense
her body had released much of its tension. David
continued moving his lips lower; while sucking on her
navel, his hands gently caressed her breasts.
"What are you waiting for? I told you to rape her-
now do it or die!", the stranger said. David looked
into Hannah's eyes; she nodded, patting his shoulder
and opening her legs for him. David continued kissing
her navel. "It's all right, David," Hannah said.
Climbing into the berth, David lay down beside Hannah,
feeling his left foot strike something as he did. She
embraced him, rolling him on top of her. He kissed
her, and his body reacted to her close presence despite
himself. As her body began moving beneath his, he
heard a crack and a low, guttural groan behind him.
Twisting his head to look behind him, he saw the
stranger on the floor, as if dead.
David carefully disentangled himself from Hannah,
grabbed his glasses, and took two steps toward the
stranger on the floor. He was unconscious, bleeding
from a cut on his forehead. A broken 8mm film camera
on a tripod lay beside him, along with a small pistol.
Reaching into the stranger's breast pocket, David
removed a wallet from it.
"Let's tie him up," Hannah said.
"Where do you think we should put him?"
"Probably the shower room at the end of the car would
be best."
After a bit of a struggle in the cramped quarters, they
stripped the stranger, bound him with the same rope
that had bound Hannah, gagged him with the terrycloth
that had silenced Hannah, and blindfolded him with his
own boxers. Once finished, they put him in the
compartment's lavatory. Then Hannah took the stranger's
wallet and opened it; "Thomas Kennedy, Hyannisport,
Massachusetts."
"Is he one of the Kennedys?"
"I don't know. You had better get dressed. We need
to get him down the hall quickly."
"Let me see the wallet for a moment."
David quickly rummaged through the wallet. While
Hannah looked on, he found a gun permit, the usual
panoply of credit cards, pictures of family, fifty
dollars, and a telegram. He showed Hannah the tele-
gram:
"MAKE HIM EAT WORDS STOP DON'T KILL HIM STOP RUIN HIM
STOP OUR HONOR AT STAKE STOP YOU WILL GET SEAT STOP
EDWARD."
She nodded, took the gun permit and tore it in two,
then put everything else back into the wallet.
After David had quickly put on his slacks, and Hannah
her dress and blouse, David dragged Peter down the
corridor to the shower room. Hannah walked in after
David had put Peter into the shower stall and put his
wallet and gun back into his breast pocket. Then they
returned to the compartment.
"Are you all right now? Did he hurt you?", David said.
"I think I'll be all right in a little while. He had
just tied me up when you came in. What time is it?"
"About twelve-thirty - we should be in Buffalo within
an hour."
While Hannah took the torn gun permit with her into
the lavatory, David exposed the film in the movie
camera. He walked back between cars and threw the
camera and film after the gun and clothes. When he
returned to the compartment, Hannah told him to sit
down on the lower berth. Then Hannah locked the door,
moved to the chair across from the lower berth, opened
the shades, and sat facing David, perched on the lower
berth.
"Hannah, I'm sorry . . . "
"David, why?"
"Because I didn't try to stop him. I just gave in to
him . . . "
Hannah moved to the edge of her chair. As she did,
David's eyes were drawn to hers. He tried to move his
head, but couldn't. "David, I saw you. I really saw
you. You can only see what someone is like when they
are under pressure, you know. And you couldn't have
done anything else."
Tears began to well from David's eyes, and he choked
for a moment trying to answer her. He cleared his
throat: "I would have raped you, on command, if he
hadn't collapsed."
Hannah started to giggle. "I saw you kick the camera
tripod so that it would hit him in the head. . ."
David tried to hold his tears back, but couldn't.
"I didn't try to kick the tripod. I'm just a dumb
klutz. . . "
"NO!" Hannah sprang from her chair and sat beside
David on the bed. She turned his head to face hers,
holding it gently between her soft hands. "Listen to
me, David Barrett. I won't have you putting yourself
down. I will not have my husband act this way. I will
not allow it."
"Where? Who?"
"You." Hannah grasped David's shoulders.
"What? But how could you? You were coerced!"
Hannah removed his glasses and stroked his face with
her fingers, wiping away his tears. "No, David, I
wasn't. I made that choice of my own free will."
"But why did you say yes?"
"Why did you ask?"
"I don't know . . . "
Hannah pulled David's face closer to hers, holding his
face once more with her hands. Holding his eyes
captive with hers, she said, "I made that choice be-
cause I know what you were trying to do, even if you
don't yet realize it. And, given what you did to me,
what you did for me, I wouldn't change my mind about
you - ever."
David tried to shake his head, trying to clear his
thoughts, trying to understand the import of what
Hannah had just told him. But Hannah did not release
him, as she continued, "In fact, I would rather give
up my work for NOW than you."
At that instant, it seemed to David that Hannah was
peering past his eyes, trying to reach his soul. Or
had she already found his most intimate place? What
had she done there? "Are you really sure, Hannah?"
"Well, I have to be. After all, Pretty to touch, nice
to hold, if you break it, we mark it sold' - and let's
face it, I'm pretty and nice. But that bloodstain on
the bed will be a bit hard to explain . . . "
David swivelled his head, and saw the bloodstain on
the sheet. After a moment, he turned his face back to
her. With the harvest moon behind her head, a glow
seemed to emanate from within her. Through his tears,
he looked at her for a long moment, bowed his head, and
said, "You're an angel."
Hannah chuckled. "I always have needed a private,
personal secretary. And I can't think of a better
personal secretary than someone who will share my bed,
my life, and my work with me." David laughed. Hannah
pulled David into her arms and held him tightly. Faces
just inches apart, she said, "Ask me again."
David wrapped his arms around Hannah, and replied,
"Will you marry me?"
For an answer, Hannah kissed David. After a moment,
David reciprocated.
"When do you introduce me to your parents, Hannah?"
"You mean Judge Patrick O'Connor, and his wife Mary
Daley O'Connor? Probably tomorrow, when we get to
Chicago."
"Cartier's first - we need to get you an engagement
ring, and you can meet my mom at the same time."
"I guess we don't need to ask anyone to clout for us
to get a quick marriage license, do we?"
"No, but your father might clout me on the head when
he sees this sheet."
By now, David and Hannah were giggling like brother
and sister. Hannah said, "I don't think he'll hit you
too hard - he needs someone to do both sets of his
books."
"Speaking of books, we'd better pick a wedding date,
a place for the reception, and a good florist."
"Don't forget the honeymoon - where would you like to
go?"
"I don't care, as long as I get to take off your
wedding dress for you."
"Not in church, I hope?"
"No, Hannah. I want to make our first time together
special for both of us, and only us."
For a few moments, their eyes were silently locked
together. Then Hannah broke the silence, "Were you
always attracted to me, David? Did you always want
to make love with me?"
David paused. "Yes, Hannah, I was. I did. I still
do."
"Lie down, David." David complied. Hannah bent down,
and removed his slacks. Then she bent down and removed
her ankle bracelet. Gently grasping his right leg, she
put the bracelet on his ankle. David sat up, and tried
to lever himself out of the berth, but Hannah, still
perched on the bed, shifted position so her face was
once more inches from his. She rested her hands on his
shoulders.
"David, do you remember any love poetry from the
Bible?"
"I think I do." David's brow furrowed, then he
relaxed. Sighing, he started, "I am my lover's . . .'"
As she gently lowered him back onto the bed, her body
following his so that her face all but touched his,
she finished, ". . . And my lover is mine . . .
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It’s okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
strangers. But it isn’t okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex
with strangers!! You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 10